


Closer Than My Hands Have Been

by girl_lost_HERE



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Alive Laura Hale, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Older Stiles Stilinski, One-Sided Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, sad sad Derek Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-09 23:26:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5559883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girl_lost_HERE/pseuds/girl_lost_HERE
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because sometimes the people we love are the people that don't love us back. </p><p>A late Christmas fic (because late is better than never, right?)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Closer Than My Hands Have Been

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, I was listening to Jealous by Labrinth and BOOM!
> 
> I made Derek (and myself) sad. Yay.
> 
> Seriously, though. I suggest listening to the song before reading my sad, sad piece of trash :D
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=50VWOBi0VFs
> 
> Sorry, but unbeta'd :(

Derek feels like he’s skirting the surface of consciousness and everything is covered a soft sticky film. Distantly, he can feel Laura nudging his shoulder and asking him about his day. He grunts something indistinct and in his cotton ears, she jokes about getting him smashed before the night’s over. Laura leaves the corner of his eye and her voice dawdles towards the mountain of snacks their parents had laid out. 

For Christmas, the Hale house is cozy with aunts, uncles, cousins laughing and nieces and nephews sneaking sniffs around the tower of presents surround.  
Derek shuffles further into the breakfast nook and blandly stares out of the large, dust smudged glass windows. The window directly to his left is opaque with condensation and, even with his werewolf-heighted senses, it’s still a struggle to see the vast preserve that wraps around the house. Instead, he focuses on the barrage of nearby sounds and smells. His dad and a smattering of aunts and uncles are flitting from counter to counter, burner to burner trying to pulling together the massive amount of food required to feed the entire Hale brood. Derek can dully register the sharp chop of Aunt Clara’s knife through pungent celery and the gentle cracking of fresh garlic in the pan of hot oil by Uncle Dave.

Against his better judgment, Derek strains his ears and begins sifting through the clinking of cooking utensils, past the crinkling of paper plates in the living room and general noise until he’s left with the soft tom-tom heartbeat. He listens to its steady, quick-footed rhythm while tracing inane lines into the window’s water droplets. In his head, Derek imagines a different holiday setting. He’s nestled next the owner of the heartbeat in front of a roaring fire in the living room hearth. His shoulder sags with the weight of his imaginary lover’s head. If he really concentrates, Derek can almost feel someone’s hair brush against his neck. They’re slotted together like puzzle pieces impossibly perfect to other, almost breathtakingly complementary it makes Derek’s throat dry. Deep down, Derek can’t help but feel burning, chaffing affection for his fireside partner. Derek snaps out of his daydream when the heartbeat suddenly skips and all he can taste is this sugary fondness that makes him what to scrap his tongue raw.  
Derek lets the kitchen din drown out the heartbeat and redoubles his effort towards window gazing. He musters up the energy to wipe condensation with his sweater sleeve, only to left with a picture of Californian torrential downpour. He loses himself in the pitter-patter rain until the same heartbeat picks up, along with a quick spike of panic.

“Sorry, Mr. Hale. Came to grab more beer.”

Derek’s ears strains again in spite of himself. He catches the tail end of his father’s reply and then every muscle and nerve becomes uncomfortably tight. Instead of heading straight for the back porch for the multitude of beer coolers, the heartbeat makes a beeline for the empty seat directly to Derek’s right. A bony shoulder connects with his and Derek finds himself swimming in a pair of shimmering brown eyes. 

“Hey Derek, what’s up?”

“Nothing much. And you, Stiles?”

Stiles proceeds to word vomit his entire day to Derek, who can only think of tracing little constellation in the smattering of moles dotting Stiles’ face. Stiles ends the entire thing with a swift pat on Derek’s back before getting up and heading towards the porch door. The door swings open, heaving with the winter chill. Derek watches out the window as Stiles lifts the cooler while being pelted by the raindrops that made it past the sturdy canopy. Stiles hefts the cooler into the house, closing the door with his foot and laughingly excusing himself past harried aunts and uncles before disappearing into the adjacent room. Minutes later, Derek feels Stiles' heartbeat slow to a steady thrum. It reminds him of his parents whenever he catches them sneaking small private glances and smiles. Derek is immediately struck by a hollow feeling in his chest that he can’t have this, this perfect person with their perfect love and affection. And that fucking hurts. 

He leaves during dessert when Isaac nibbles on Stiles’ neck while Stiles wraps his arms around Isaac and just beams.

**Author's Note:**

> If I got time, I really want to develop this thing into a series. So give me a ring if you're interested.


End file.
